Sometimes Solutions Aren't So Simple
by AHigherOctave
Summary: Four times Puck is the one who got away-and once he regrets it.
1. Denial

**AN:** True fact, this story is being posted to my Livejournal first, and this second. So if you want it the day it comes out it's there. Second true fact: I am now taking prompts. Not for this story, because I've got it all outlined. In general though, if you give me a song or a word or something along those lines I might develop a story around it.

I. Denial

She bumps into him in the lunch line. All wrapped up in the red uniform that all Coach Sylvester's little minions of the anti-Christ wear.

"Excuse me," She mumbles, flashing white teeth through those pink-glossed lips. He can smell the cherry over the rotten gravy the lunch ladies are slopping atop this today's lunch of chicken and potatoes.

"Yeah, excuse you," He mumbles, clutching his tray tight between his fingers and walking over to the table on the right. Why they need cheerleaders during baseball season is beyond him anyways.

* * *

Santana Lopez is punching her number into his cell phone and screening his text messages when he sees her make a beeline for him. He tries to duck into his locker and be invisible but it's too late, she already saw him.

"Hey Quinn," He cringes because now that Santana has acknowledged her existence, he can't run away and pretend he never noticed her coming.

"Santana," She returns with a big fake smile before turning to him. "Noah, right?"

"Puck," He's never really been in any hurry to get to Algebra II but it seems like a pretty good option to him now. He thinks he remembers something about factors...or factorials...or at least the basic ten numbers.

She shoves a piece of paper into his hands. He reads the words across the top in big black letters: _Chastity Club_. He looks up at her, because clearly this girl has no idea who she's dealing with. "We're having an introductory barbecue at my house. Tonight. 8 o'clock."

"Pass." He tries to hand the paper back to her, but she crosses her arms across her chest.

"Keep it, just in case," He notices her eyes are green. "You never know, you could change your mind about going to hell." She gives him the most fantastic bitchy smile in the world before prancing off down the hall.

"Quinn Fabray, she just moved here from Wisconsin. Really piece of work, right?" Santana snorts, handing him back his cell phone. "Coach Sylvester is making us all go to that crazy Virgin Mary party of hers." He shrugs, and throws his backpack over his shoulder. Off to the nurse's office after all.

* * *

"You didn't come to my party."

He slams his locker door, and shrugs, as he starts to walk down the hall. Gym is the only class he actually goes to all the time, it makes up for all the rest of the classes he's practically failing.

"Noah," She snaps, quickening her pace to keep up with him. "I know your probably not the kind of guy who believes in keeping it in his pants but it's rude not to show up when someone offers you to come to their home for free food and a chance to dance with a bunch of pretty girls with short skirts." He doesn't answer, just keeps walking towards those double doors. "Not to mention most of their IQs are probably lower than dirt, let alone yours."

"I don't like you," He stops, in the middle of the hallway. "I don't know what universe you live in but read my lips: _We aren't friends_. Never will be. And my name is not Noah, even if he's a prime player in the big fat Bible of yours. It's Puck, as in Puckerman, as in Jewish. So, no, I'm not interested in finding Christ the Savior. No thank you." He continues to walk, but he hears her right behind him. It becomes almost a race for who can reach those doors first. He's practically sprinting by the end, but she veers of and blocks him.

This isn't football. He can't tackle her to get her out of the way, "Alright, Puck, you want to play dirty? _Fine, with me_." He watches her lips elongate the words. So pink and shiny, so virginal. He finds himself wondering if she's ever kissed a boy before. "And I could care less if you like me or not, believe me, there are enough boys that do. I only care because I like your friend, Finn." And it all makes sense, his buddy would go for a girl so stark and pristine. He's about as intelligent as a fire hydrant. "So, next time I say hello to you-"

"I'll pretend your the gosh, golly coolest girl ever. Okay, Skipper?" He pushes past her, bumping her shoulder, and enters the gymnasium.


	2. Anger

**Title:** Sometimes Solutions Aren't So Simple  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Puck, Quinn, Finn, some mention of other Glee clubbers.  
**Summary: **Four times Puck's gotten away...and one time he's regretted it.  
**Other Chapters: **Part I

**AN: **I am well aware that this seems to be a mislabeled Puck/Quinn story but I assure you it's not. At some point we will see him with other people, promise.

II. Anger

He manages to keep from speaking to her in full sentences for almost four months. With all the double dates and parties and post-football game pizzas they've been forced to share, it's impossible to stay completely mute. So Puck does his best to give one word answers: yes, no, whatever, _bitch_. And, as his friend Tony the Tiger would say it's going GRRRR-eat.

At least until after football practice one Saturday in September, he finds her leaning against the side of his truck. All worn out from Cherrios, that short little skirt pushed halfway up her thighs… He can see the sweat trickling down her red, hot skin. She looks so tired, pulling her hair down from their regulation ponytail. It sweeps in golden waves over her shoulders, so shiny and curly and…

"What do you want, Fabray?" He spits, throwing his backpack into the back. It comes pretty close to hitting her head. He curses when he misses, damn his bad aim.

"Where's Finn?" He should have known it was about tall, pale, and whiny. _Quinn won't let me touch her boobs, Quinn says I can't wear green anymore, Quinn says you're a jerk to her._

"Do I look like a zookeeper to you?" He hisses and she grins. "What?"

"Noah had an ark full of animals, two of every species." She points at him, "Noah." She points at his truck, "Piece of crap, but I guess it could count as an ark." He scowls, she keeps grinning.

"It's a Ford F-150 actually," He opens the door, and she moves between him and the car to slam it. He tries not to notice her left leg grazing his right. Tries not to care how the material of her uniform brushes up against his thigh. Not to notice how pretty her eyes are up close, with the sparkling emerald color and those long, dark lashes.

Instead, he jumps back like she burned him. "What the hell, Fabray?" He demands. His back is pressed against the Isuzu parked next to him. The metal is cold from the wind. It feels good on his sweaty palms.

She just sighs, rolling her eyes, "Do you know where Finn is or not?"

He nods shortly, "His mom is having surgery…on her prostate."

She kicks him in the shin and he takes a minute to flinch, "Girl's don't have prostates, very funny dumb ass." She shakes her head in frustration and walks away muttering something about the idiots she has to deal with on a day to day basis. He watches the skirt of her uniform swish, swish, swish, for a moment. He takes a deep breath of crispy air, and climbs into the driver's seat.

* * *

Finn is walking along the side of the parking lot on the way back to his truck. "I looked it up. Chicks don't _have _prostates!" His head snaps up, and he sees Puck. The rest of his team surrounds him, paintball guns clutched in their hands. "You broke the rules. And for that, you must be punished." Suddenly the guns are in the air, ready to listen to shoot the supposed Benedict Arnold.

"Wait, wait, w-w-wait," Finn stutters, stepping backwards as Puck and the others advance. "You've got the power here. Y-you don't have to do this," He practically pleads.

Puck's finger is already on the trigger though, and he's watching the little green balls of paint splatter against his friend's jacket. Finn needs to be punished. Girls don't have prostates, girls don't have prostates, girl have short little red skirts and muscled thighs. He takes a step closer, no prostates. No.

Finn doesn't scream, he just stands there with his hands held spastically in mid-air and his face contorts the same way as when he thinks too hard. Puck runs out of ammo before anyone else, and finds it entirely unsatisfying to watch them keep shooting. He grabs Matt Rutherford's gun and aims below the waist.

It makes him feel a little better. Almost.

* * *

On Sunday night he and Matt nail all of Kurt Hummel's lawn furniture to his roof. On Monday, along with the rest of the team, they put wheelchair kid in a port-o-potty as a gift to Finn. All he has to do is push. Instead, he rolls the nerd away. As the rest of the team stands there in shock, Puck tries to think of a way to rationalize his behavior. More importantly, he tries to think of satisfactory revenge.

On one side of the field, the Emerald Dreams guy is hosing on fake green. On the other side, the Cheerios are practicing. He sees Quinn out on the field, doing backhand springs while Coach Sylvester looks on smiling. Words start forming hazily in the back of his head, until a plan springs into place.

* * *

He chooses cherry. Cherry because it smells like her plump, pink lips. Cherry because it'll match that fucking red uniform of hers that's tight in all the wrong places. Cherry because she needs hers popped badly. He pays the guy at Cumberland Farms his eighty-nine cents and takes a quick taste before sliding it into the cup holder of his truck and driving off towards school.

He watches her getting out of her car in the parking lot. Cherry-colored Punch Buggy, just another reason. She adjusts the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. And, what a surprise! It's red… Just another reason. She throws an insult at Rachel Berry, who just happens to be rolling her pink suitcase thing by. He falters for a moment, because he's usually out of the car in time to insult Rachel's argyle sweater and knee-high socks combo himself.

He regains his composure, kicking his door open hard. He makes his way over to doors, cutting her off as she tries to get in. "Puck, I'm late for AP Bio. Get out of my way." He stands still, glaring at her. "Seriously, I'm late. And we have a lab today, get out of my way." His fists curl and he realizes something is wrong. The slushie isn't in his hand. He feels his eyes go wide, he forgot the slushie. This has never happened to him before. Performance anxiety isn't high on his list of problems.

"Finn told me to apologize for my fucking behavior on Saturday," He says through his teeth, glaring back at his truck.

She looks away, "You know that doesn't count, right?" She mutters under her breath. And he wonders if it really bothers her, that he doesn't like her. That he insults her. That he's the one who got the whole football team to call her Virgin Mary.

"I know," He grumbles, and walks back toward his car. No use making her later if he isn't going to make her cry. He takes the slushie out of it's holder and throws it at the first person who walks by, Brittany Lawson.

Her bottom lip quivers, and she stares at him. Her brown eyes looking at him with the resounding question, _Why_? He just shrugs, and walks by her as Mike Chang comes rushing to the rescue, tucking his letterman jacket over her. She leans her head against Mike's shoulder and breaks into sobs.

Puck keeps walking.

* * *

They lose again on Friday night. Coach still takes them out for pizza, probably was going to head to Papa Gino's anyways judging by his waistline. He finds himself sitting at the corner booth, wedged in between Santana and Mike. Santana is babbling on about needing a manicure, and Mike is making love-struck puppy faces at Brittany across the table. He can hear Finn and Quinn giggling in the booth behind him.

He thinks he might be sick.

Somewhere between Brittany dropping her napkin, Mike rushing to pick it up, and Santana's detailed play-by-play of her leg waxing yesterday, he feels himself rising out of his seat. He wanders aimlessly to the corner where the Jukebox is kept. He presses the arrows, looking through the songs. There isn't much in there, just crappy one-hit wonders from the '80s and pop wash-ups from the '90s.

He chooses a Queen song and keeps flipping. Three for a dollar, what fun. At least the longer it takes, the longer he'll be away from Santana and her incessant squawking.

"Hey." He hears from behind him. He can't help but jump. "Didn't mean to give you a heart attack," Quinn walks out in front of him. She's wearing her uniform under Finn's letterman. The jacket looks ridiculously big on her tiny frame, he goes back to looking for songs. "I see you're not in much of a party mood either."

"We lost," He grunts. Flip, Britney Spears. Flip, Now 8. Flip, Rolling Stones. Flip, flip, flip, flip. Would it kill them to put some Radiohead in there? Maybe a little Coldplay?

She nods, smiling, "None of the other idiots seem to care." She motions behind them, to where all of their so-called friends are celebrating. He glances back, Matt has moved into his spot, and Mike is next to Brittany now. Looking at them, they're bright, smiling faces, you'd have thought they won. He returns his gaze to the selections, flipping back and forth half-heartedly now that Quinn has gone and ruined his solitude.

"You know you're kind of an asshole, right?" She asks, and he looks at her, expecting her bitch-face to be poised and ready. Instead, he's met with a frown, as if she doesn't quite know what to make of him and his biting remarks and permanent scowl.

He nods. Staring into her green eyes carefully as his head goes up and down. "And you know you can be kind of a bitch?"

She nods too, grinning up at him, "Yeah, but I'm pretty so it doesn't usually matter."

He smiles against his will, and punching in the numbers for Aerosmith's Walk This Way. "You might be able to bat your eyelashes at Finn and get whatever you want but that isn't really my deal."

She sighs, and he can feel her watching his fingers, "What is your deal, Puckerman? I mean, besides throwing kids into dumpsters and paint-balling your friends?"

He stops flipping. It's a solid question, what is his deal? No-one's ever asked him before. Usually people are too busy cowering in fear of him to ask him questions, and the ones that are stupid enough to do otherwise (Finn, Santana, the other scalpel jocks) don't spend a lot of time having conversations. "I don't know, I guess you could say-"

"Quinn!" Finn comes fumbling over, tripping over his own gigantic feet. "Santana's having an after party at her house. Her dad bought us vodka." Puck sighs, it isn't as if Finn can afford to lose the brain cells drinking will cause him to.

"Great, finish your pizza and we'll go," Finn follows her orders, wagging his tail along the way like a contented puppy. Puck scoffs, and Quinn turns her attention back to him.

"So you aren't going then?" Something about the way she raises her eyebrow makes his blood flow a little faster. Such a badass move for such a virginal little girl.

"Yeah, I'm going to turn up an opportunity for free booze," He smirks.

She smiles, shaking her head and walking back towards Finn. He turns his full attention back to picking a decent song. "I like Elton John," He hears from behind him, but when he turns to look at her she's still walking away. He looks through the queen's song because he's bored. He decides to play one to humor her.

He sits down at the booth just as his 2nd selection ends. Santana whines that he's an asshole for leaving her alone so long, but tries to curl into his lap none-the-less. He pushes her off and tells her to eat her pizza.

_I'm a bitch,_

_I'm a bitch,_

_Oh, the bitch is back,_

_Stone cold sober as a matter of fact,_

_I can bitch, I can bitch,_

'_Cause I'm better than you,_

_It's the way that I move,_

_The things that I do…_

He can hear Quinn stop talking mid-sentence behind him, she peels herself out of Finn's arms and glares over her shoulder at him. He grins so wide he thinks his mouth will get stuck like that, and takes a giant bite of pizza. The cheese doesn't taste as moldy as it did when he left it.

* * *

Two weeks later he's driving home from football practice when he sees a short red skirt swishing back and forth on the side of the road, blond hair whipping in the wind, and a red athletic bag slung over a shoulder. He sighs, and prays that it's Brittany as he pulls his car onto the side of the road next to the figure.

No such luck, the cheerleading uniform belongs to Quinn Fabray.

She doesn't acknowledge him nor the truck as he sidles up next to her, engine purring quietly. She keeps her head turned right, but he can see her jaw clench and her arms wrapping themselves around her body, and for once she doesn't have that stupid jacket of Finn's to keep her warm. It's September, but it's Ohio. He wouldn't exactly call it warm. "Quinn," She keeps walking, hugging herself tighter. "Quinn Fabray," He calls loudly, laying on the horn. She flinches slightly, but doubles her already quick pace. "Virgin Mary!"

She looks at him and then scrunches up her face, "Damn it," He hears just barely under her breathe. She looks up at him, her face red. He wonders if it's out of embarrassment or if she's been crying. "What do you want, Puckerman?" She spits out, avoiding his gaze again.

"Just wanted to see if you needed a ride," He shrugs, and he opens up the passenger door. "Your McMansion is on my way home anyways."

Her eyebrows furrow and she gets a little wrinkle in the middle of her forehead, her lips set in a grim line. He smiles, pushing the door open wider. "What is your problem?" She hisses, kicking the door shut. "You think you can just be a jerk to me all the time and then offer me rides home when you _feel _like it?" She scoffs, and keeps walking. "Go to _Hell_." She over enunciates the word enough to make you know she doesn't say it a lot.

The funny thing is, it does bother him to an extent. More than it should. What right does she have to bitch at him when he's trying to be nice? He pulls up in front of her and thrusts the passenger side door open again. "Get in the god damn car, Quinn, and stop acting like I owe you anything. You're _Finn's _girlfriend, okay? Maybe he has to worship at your fucking feet but I sure don't."

She spins around so fast he swears he hair gives him whiplash, "Oh, I'm sorry. I should let you treat me like crap just because girls who have no self-esteem like Santana do. Oh, and maybe tomorrow, I'll let you slushie me like you do to Rachel Berry. Won't that be _fun_?" Her eyes gleam with anger, shining gold flecks underneath the green that remind him of lightening. He was scared of thunderstorms as a kid. "And maybe tomorrow, you know what we can do? I can forget to wear underwear and you can go down on me in that disgusting truck bed of yours. Is that what you want, Puck? Do you want to get into my pants? God, it isn't going to happen. So just go to hell, please, okay? I don't have time to deal with your shit today." She slams the door and sulks off.

His blood boils, and he takes his truck and goes off so fast he forgets to turn at first and takes down the mailbox at the end of the road. He screeches off. Fucking Quinn Fabray, if Finn doesn't dump her soon he's going to have to fucking take up smoking just to deal with the stress she's building up. Who is she to act like she's better than him? Just because her daddy's rich and his is a deadbeat doesn't mean anything. She's just another fucking whore. Just another whore.

'_I can forget to wear underwear and you can go down on me…' _His breathe catches in his throat, and he imagines Quinn laying on her back in his truck bed, his tongue inside her. He imagines he begging him for more, that blond hair all sweaty and stuck to her shoulders, his hands on her well-toned thighs, her fingers reaching for his belt buckle…

He stops in the middle of the road. Oh god, she'd be good. He just knows, a girl with that much fight in her couldn't be bad in bed. Her cheerleading uniform on his floor, her cherry smelling lips leaving a trail on his neck, against his mouth. He can taste it now, and he likes cherry. Suddenly, the truck is turned around and he's heading back to Quinn, Quinn Fabray of all people in hopes of sex.

More images bombard his brain and he drives faster. Quinn Fabray in nothing but his letterman jacket, legs spread wide on his bed. Quinn Fabray in the school library, in the stacks of dusty old periodicals in the back trying not to make a sound as he slips his hand between her legs. Quinn Fabray on her pink bedspread at home, grinning as they get away with it right under her parents noses. Quinn on the phone with Finn, telling him that cheerleading practice is going late while he's right behind her thrusting.

Quinn Fabray on the side of the road, wiping tears away from her pretty green eyes. …Wow, what a buzz kill.

"Go away!" She snaps, sitting in the grass with her face barely out of her hands. "I swear to God, if you don't I'll kick you in the crotch this time."

He pulls the truck to a halt on the curve, turning the keys in the ignition, and hopping out of the car. It doesn't even feel like him, but he feels his legs moving so it must be. He pulls his letterman out of the bed and lays it in her lap silently. She stares at it for a minute, her fingers grazing lightly over the familiar red. Her lips purse as if she's about to object…

She looks up at him, her cheeks shining with wetness, and whatever was there seems to catch in her throat. She swallows, hard, and he really tries to push certain thoughts out of his head. He looks down at the dirt beneath his feet, he's standing in an anthill. Oh good, there's no way to make that dirty. "You can drive me home," He hears her sigh. He brings his head up, and sees her heading towards his truck. His jacket is hanging loosely in her left hand, and she throw her cheerleading bag into the back in it's place before climbing in.

He follows hands in his pockets, waiting for her to settle herself before he starts the ignition and shifts into drive. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Puck is too nervous something sexy will come on the radio to try and bother with it. Quinn just sits there looking out the window, her sad green eyes a million miles away. He glances over at her, the jacket is still spread across her lap as if she isn't sure what to do with it. Her hair is falling out of it's blond ponytail, the curled tendrils at the front framing her face.

He clears his throat, she stretches a little. "So, um, where's your car?" He mentally slaps himself for the lame attempt at small talk, usually he thanks his lucky stars when whatever girl he's with isn't yapping at him.

"Daddy took it away because he found out Finn and I had been using his hot tub," She mumbles, leaning her chin against her palm. "And now he has to have it cleaned."

"Why exactly?" She doesn't answer his question, but he sees her eyes linger a little too long on the mailbox they're passing and he grins. "Finn can't keep his swimmers to himself, huh?"

She looks in his direction just long enough to glare, then returns to the window, "Something like that," She breathes in heavily, and somewhere on the way out the air becomes a sob. "Oh…" She covers her hand with her mouth, and he begins to pull over. "No, keep driving," She tells him, tears falling upon her cheeks. "It's just, god, I think I'm getting my period or something. Oh god, I can't believe I just told you that."

"It's okay," He squeaks, but it isn't helping. He's been around enough to know how sensitive girls get down there around their time of month. "I…uh, have a sister." Oh good, Delilah. She's a good distraction. He has a little sister, he should not send her the wrong messages by sleeping around. Especially when the girl happens to belong to his best friend.

She nods, swallowing the tears again. "I'm sorry. Can we just be quiet for a few minutes?" He nods, and turns toward the road. Between there and her house the only sound she makes is that of her heavy breathe, he tries to ignore even that. She breathes, he taps his fingers on the steering wheel. She breathes, he whistles a little while he turns. She breathes, he turns on the radio and finds some obnoxiously loud death metal. None of it does any good, it's all he can hear. So he tries not to hit anything as he drives a little to fast to her McMansion.

He pulls the truck into the driveway and she sits still in the passenger seat, breathing.

It takes every inch of self control in his body not to smack his head against the dashboard repeatedly. He knows he's being selfish. He knows it's wrong to expect her to breathe silently, but somehow he really just wants to talk for once. And she won't give that to him. "Well, um, bye," He mutters, waiting for her to get up.

She sits in the passenger seat and nods, looking at his jacket in her lap, but she doesn't make any effort to move. He attempts his best at patience. Does what his mom told him to when he was little, count to ten. 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, 3 Mississippi-

"Do you, uh, want…?" She trails off holding his jacket at him and he takes it, throwing it over the back of his seat. "I guess, I'll see you," She opens her door, but she sits there on the edge of her seat, not leaving.

"What Quinn?" He sighs, rubbing his forehead. "You want help with your bag?"

She looks at him and shakes her head, "I was just…um, I…"

He rolls his eyes, "Spit it out, Virgin Mary."

She narrows her eyes, "Forget it, Lima Loser." Suddenly she's out of the car and slamming the door in his face. "Forget I even thought of it."

"Thought of what?" She slings the duffel over her shoulder and huffs toward the house. "Seriously Fabray, what?" She ignores him and he finds himself climbing out of the car and chasing her. She starts running, he cuts her off at the door. Thank god he's running back for the football team, she's fast for a girl. "What the hell is your problem? I was actually being nice, do you know how hard that is?"

"Oh, you're right. I apologize for the fact that you can't act like anything but a donkey's rear end unless a girl cries," She snaps at him, her hand goes to his chest and he falls back against the door, because she's surprisingly strong…for a cheerleader.

"You know, I don't think God will eternally smite you if you use the word ass," He hisses, trying to regain his stature, but damn, her hand is like a vice grip. Must be from holding up other people all day everyday.

"Maybe, but it's not like you're really worth risking it," She has a sly little grin on her face. He breaks her hold for a minute and she slams him back. "What's wrong, the big bad football player scared of the little blond girl?"

"No," He grunts. "Are you afraid of me?"

She hesitates for a minute, and he takes the minute to break his back away from her door. "No…No," She repeats, but he sees her bite her lip and her eyes dart away.

"Really?" He smirks, trying to meet her eyes. "Have you seen my guns? Pretty scary."

"Do I need to shove you against my door again?" She threatens, glaring at him, but he thinks that her cheeks are just a little bit too pink.

He takes a step closer to her, and motions over to the driveway, "What about my truck?" She snorts. "Oh c'mon, I know you think it's a piece of crap but it's pretty big."

"Over compensating much?" She's giggling now, but her cheeks turn redder and she steps back so she's against the railing.

"What about my Mohawk?" He moves closer, so that there's only about three inches between them. "Does that scare you? Or do you like a little bit of a bad boy Fabray?" He raises an eyebrow.

Her breath intakes sharply, and she stares at him. He runs a hand over his patch of hair and wiggles his brows now. "N-no," She answers uncertainly, gripping the white wood behind her a little too tight for it to be true.

"The grin then? You think it's pervy, maybe a little un-Christian?" He leers at her pointedly, and she flinches away from him. "Or maybe you like it just like the hair."

She clears her throat, no longer looking at him. "It's more than a little un-Christian, but it doesn't scare me."

He's touching her now, her skirt against his jeans, his hand trailing a line up her side. "There's only one thing left then, it must be the eyes." His fingers run along her neck, and up to her jaw. He uses it to turn her face towards him, so her green orbs are pointed up. "What is it? What could possibly scare you about this?"

She shaking now, and he can see her legs are practically giving out without the strength of the railing to support her. "It's everything," She whispers, meeting his gaze. "Every last bit of you is terrifying."

He feels something rise inside his chest, something fragile and vulnerable he buried a long time ago when his dad walked out. "Every thing about you is too." She opens her mouth to respond, but he cuts her off with his lips.


	3. Bargaining

**Title:** Sometimes Solutions Aren't So Simple (3/5)  
**Rating:** R/M  
**Fandom:** Glee  
**Words:** 6834.  
**Characters:** Puck, Quinn, Santana, Finn  
**Summary:** Four times Puck's gotten away… and one time he's regretted  
**Notes:** I know, this took forever, and I'm sorry, computer issues.

Part III. Bargaining

_"It's just as unpleasant to get more than you bargained for as to get less."_  
_- George Bernard Shaw_

Kissing Quinn is unlike anything else in the world, but completely the same. Sure, he's kissed a hundred other girls and they're lips move the same way and their tongues are definitely more experienced than hers a lot of the time, but it's different with her. Everything is different with her, isn't it?

Her tongue glides along his lip, slowly, gently, a little unsure. He moans a little under her mouth just to let her know she's doing fine. He can feel her breathe in and out under him, feel her heart race. He lets his hand drift up and down her arm soothingly, reassuringly. Who knew he could be thoughtful? She becomes steadier, pushing his back up against the siding of her house again and brushing her fingers over his Mohawk. He takes the opportunity to run a hand through her perfect hair, just as soft as it looks.

Suddenly she's pushing him a little too hard, pushing him away. Her face comes into full view, and it's shell-shocked. "No, it's okay," He grasps for her arm but she pulls it away before he can get a grip. "C'mon Quinn, this is right, it is."

She shakes her head, her green eyes suddenly cold. "No, it's not. It's the epitome of wrong, Puck." She goes to open the door, "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Just one more Quinn," He hates the pleading sound of his voice. He hates being weak, especially for her. "Just another minute-" She's gone before he can finish his sentence, leaving him alone on her porch with nothing but her Cheerios bag.

He touches a hand to his lip and then hits the porch railing so hard it splinters under the force, wrecking his hand along with it. "Shit," He mumbles, but still he hopes she might come back. After fifteen minutes, he decides he better leave before her parents show up and make him pay for the collateral damage.

* * *

He forgets how to be angry enough to play football. Coach threatens to cut him as Fullback if he doesn't shape up. He laughs in Coach's face, which results in him being switched to Running Back. He doesn't really understand the connection, but he doesn't mind. Running is easy, mindless. It gives him more time to think about Quinn. And how he wishes he could just kiss her again.

He knows the simple solution to this is to tell Finn she made a move on him. Presto! No more boyfriend. Somehow though, he thinks it might violate this little game the two of them have going. Whoever tells Finn first is the weak link, so long as he doesn't blab the control is still in his court. He thinks.

He's waiting for Finn to throw the damn ball one day when he notices the Cheerios being marched outside by Coach Sylvester, who's wearing some god awful sweatband on top of her head and yelling something about how hard her life is…again. She's smiling when she turns to Quinn though, who executes some kind of move that involves putting her leg practically behind her head _while_ standing the other one on Brittany's shoulder. He suddenly finds it hard to breathe. What is she trying to do to him?

"It's sick, right?" He jumps a little and sees Santana standing next to him, practically green with jealousy.

"What's she doing?" He does his best to sound nonchalant. If his girlfriend finds out he made out with her best friend… well, she might not care, actually. After all, he did make out with Brittany before they started dating.

"A scorpion," Santana states, crossing her arms over her uniform. "Coach banned me from them because she said my execution is sloppy. Bitch." _'Hello pot',_ he thinks, _'have you met kettle?'_

"Santana, do you think this is hard? I was in 'Nam, that was hard! Get back in here!" Coach Sylvester yells into her megaphone, as if she has supersonic hearing.

Santana rolls her eyes and squeezes his arm, "See you later, stud."

He watches for a few more minutes, Quinn does some kind of upside-down split while the other girls hold her up. Then one of Finn's balls actually makes it past the 20 Yard Line and he has to run. He'd quit, but then what excuse would he have to perve in on cheerleading practice?

* * *

Finn and Quinn argue through Chemistry, and he finds it so intriguing that he actually goes to Algebra. They keep at it there too, he suddenly finds himself in a good mood. Apparently Quinn has had it up to _here_ with Finn's stupidity. Well, maybe, Finn's had it with Quinn's bossy ways. Did he just call her bossy? Tanaka interrupts them and tells them he's trying to teach, but they just wait for him to ignore them again and go right back at it.

"You're such a two-year-old," Quinn hisses in a whisper, so they won't be interrupted again. It makes it slightly harder for him to hear. He has to lean so far forward he can smell her hair. It smells like apples…nice and fresh cut or covered in caramel. "The answer is no and that's final."

"God, you're such a prude," Finn says this too loudly, as if proving to everyone in the room, including Puck, that he really is as stupid as his girlfriend thinks. "Do you think Santana's never let Puck cope a feel?" Suddenly his ears feel like they're on fire. "She's your best friend, right?"

Quinn slams her book shut and storms out, ignoring Coach Tanaka's stuttering as she makes her way past him. "Wait!" He finally manages, chasing her down. "You need a hall pass!"

"Dude," Puck smacks Finn on the backside of his head. "You're such a moron."

"What, so you'd let it go if Santana wouldn't even let you touch her?" He isn't thinking about Santana though, he's thinking about the feeling of Quinn's hair under his fingertips.

"They aren't the same girl," He says quietly. "They never will be." Finn stares at him for a moment, with that face he gets when he thinks too hard, but then Tanaka comes back in and barks something about equations.

_(Q+F) / P = Error._

Or so says his graphing calculator.

Puck thinks there might be something to this Math thing after all.

* * *

Santana comes over to help him study for their Spanish test. Somehow he doesn't think _"Quiero que el tornillo"_ or any of the other naughty things she whispers in his ear will help him with Mr. Schuester's class. Her lips are wet against his ear, they taste like coconut and she smells kind of like burnt rubber. She probably paid a hundred dollars for that perfume.

He tries to pretend she tastes like cherries, on top of a hot fudge sundae. The taste bleeds in from his mind, the perfect happy ending. He closes his eyes, pretends it's her long blond hair underneath his fingertips and her cheerleading toned hips rocking against his. He keeps her name in by force, biting the inside of his lip so hard it draws blood.

While Santana gets dressed he takes a hot shower, and tries to wash away the regret. He locks the door so she can't try to join him. His head keeps going back to a certain blond, the simple way she kisses him. He never felt alone before he met her. He was fine. Now… now…

_Él extraña a su._

* * *

He parks his truck on the side street down the road and waits by the side of the porch for her to come home. Just one more kiss, that's all he wants from her. A goodbye, some closure. Closure! That's it, that's exactly what he needs. He just needs to kiss her quick and then be the one to reject her, and then he'll be able to move on to other girls. Everything will be just like before. He's just never been turned down before.

He waits, covered by the darkness of her house, until he sees Finn's mom's Station Wagon pull up. Quinn is giggling, which means she must have forgiven him for groping her. He leans out of the bush a little, just in time to see her kiss him. His stomach feels like it might explode.

He waits until Finn is gone to approach her. She smiles giddily as she makes her way up the front steps. He grabs her wrist as she goes to turn her doorknob, and she punches him in the face. "Jesus Christ," She kicks him in the shin, sending him toppling over. "What the hell, Fabray?"

She looks like she's considering murder as she approaches him, "You manhandle me in front of my own house and you're mad at me?" She glares at him, before kicking his leg again, but more lightly this time. "Get up." He obeys, standing straight in front of her. "What are you doing here?"

He can't stop thinking about her. Everything reminds him of her. He lies awake at night wishing he could just kiss her and hold her and listen to her talk about her day. Oh god, he's such a pansy. "I was in the neighborhood."

She sighs, looking away from him, "And you thought you'd stop by and bother me while you were here?"

He raises an eyebrow, leaning in towards her. "I bet you're really bothered by my presence," He smirks, hooking it smoothly up into an arch.

She turns away from him, putting her key in the door, "You can leave now," She goes to push the door open. He catches her arm, "Do I need to hit you again?"

"Listen," He mutters, and looks at the dark house. "Where are your parents?" He didn't notice the house was empty while he was waiting, he just figured her family was on the other side of the McMansion.

She looks at the ground, "They went to my sister's for the weekend. Or, that's where my mom said they were going, but last time she went to Cancun and Dad went to New York." He vaguely wonders if her parents have separate bedrooms or they share one just to keep up appearances. "Daddy gets migraines, he isn't very fun to go on vacation with."

He breathes in slowly, "At least he's there."

She looks at him, as if she wants to contest this, but nods. "That's true." He can practically hear the _'buts'_ and _'excepts'_ rolling off her tongue. "So what did you want again?" She asks after a minute.

"I was bored," He kicks at the air beneath his feet. "I thought you might want to grab a slice-"

"The answer is still no, Puck," She tells him lightly, her green eyes staring at her door. "I'm with Finn, it's not happening."

He stares at her and thinks about how unfair his life is, how everything bad _always_ happens to him. Why couldn't he have just met her before Finn? Why wouldn't she just give him _one_ tiny chance? "You can't act like he's on the same level as you are," She turns to face him for a moment, but catches herself. He stares at her profile, half-masked by darkness. "Does he ever even understand _anything_ you're saying? He doesn't even know you."

"And you do?" She laughs, staring frontward. "You're complex enough to understand everything I want and need and everything that's wrong with me?" She turns towards him. "You're just a toddler, and I'm a toy you can't have. You think you have insight? You think you like me?" There's something bitter in her laugh now, cynical. And it cuts him like a knife through his gut. "How many other girls have you slept with this week? What about this month? How many more are you just waiting to tap once you get me out of the way?" She stares at him, "Maybe he's not deep, or romantic, but neither are you. At least he isn't pretending." She opens the door. "Good night, Puck." And slams it in his face.

* * *

He decides the only logical thing to do is join her little celibacy club. She's opening the meeting on Thursday when he walks in and sits down square in the center, next to some Four Eyed geek who runs the school paper. He folds his hands in his lap, and looks up towards the front, smiling. He feels the whole room stare at him.

Quinn, who's doing something at the podium in the front, opens her mouth and then tries to form words, but they seem to fail her. She just keeps almost moving her mouth, only to go completely slack-jawed again.

Santana is the first one to speak to him, "What the hell are you doing here?" Her eyebrows furrow and her mouth curls down in disgust.

He grins, "I'm here to become celibate and righteous in the eyes of God." He looks directly at Quinn, who just looks confused, and smiles. "I want to learn how to be a good boy."

She stares at him another moment and then shakes her head. "It's not something you learn." She states, crossing her arms. "It's something for people who were born with morality."

He doesn't falter at this. He was expecting as much. "Well that's not very Christian of you."

She stares at the ceiling and whispers, "Why me? Don't I have enough problems?"

Santana glares at him, "No, no boyfriend of mine is going to be in the club. Puck, go pick on Glee club or something until we're done."

He shrugs, "Can't. Sandy Gayerson got in trouble for groping some kid."

"He asked to borrow my cheerleading outfit last week for measurements," Brittany acknowledges from her seat in the corner. "And then Coach Sylvester yelled at him." Everyone stares at her for a few minutes.

Finn recovers first. "Okay than," He mumbles, and then looks at his girlfriend, "You let Matt in and he's had sex."

"Dude!" Matt hisses at him. Puck wonders if he should be more worried that Santana picks this moment to suddenly turn away from him.

"Sorry," He mutters. "So why can't Puck be in?"

"Because he's only here to get in more people's pants?" Quinn offers, shooting daggers at him. "Because he's probably going to give half the school an STD by the end of this year? Because we'll be lucky if he gets to graduation without knocking up some poor, naïve girl?" That's almost insulting, he does use condoms. Not like he wants to get bumps and uglies down south.

"I think I deserve just as much of a chance as Rutherford," Puck grins at her. She's hot when she's angry like this. He should make her mad more often. "Or, I think Mrs. Pillsbury would think so."

Quinn's face falters at the name of the club's advisor, and then she frowns. Getting stuck with the Guidance Counselor as your mentor is basically the worst pick out there, because they don't believe in bias at all. Apparently to get a degree in Psychology you must have some sort of belief that all people are born equal and shaped by their environments, and therefore everyone deserves second chances.

She shakes her head, "No, no, no, no, no, NO."

"Now, Quinn, there's no reason to act like a toddler." He watches as her eyes seemingly roll into the back of her head.

"Fine, Puck's in," Santana sighs, "Seriously though, I don't get why you'd want to be." She looks at him in disgust.

Quinn shakes her head, "There's no way." Suddenly, a look of pure epiphany spreads across her face. He swallows nervously, that can't be good for him. "Unless," She says breathlessly, giddily even. "Unless," She turns to him, smiling smugly. "You'd be willing to submit to a test."

"A test?" He asks skeptically. Like what? Is he supposed to know the names of the girl parts or something? Or is it an IQ thing?"

"To prove your sincerity," She says sweetly. "You'd be willing to do something like that, right?"

He stares into her mischievous hazel eyes and mumbles, "Uh-huh. That sounds…uh, okay."

She grins now, looking at him, "Oh good, I'm so glad." She returns to her podium at the front of the room and looks at her notes. "All in favor of Puck's conditioned membership into Celibacy Club say 'I'."

Everyone raises various hands and there's a chorus of "I"s, except from Brittany who is too busy examining her fingernails to notice.

"Great," Quinn claps her hands together. "Then it's agreed, Puck will abstain from sexual contact for a month to prove his seriousness about club membership." She turns to him, "I'll make you a list of things you _can't_ do, in case you're unclear." She bangs her little mini-gavel against the podium, "Meeting adjourned." And flounces off down the hall.

"_WHAT_?" Santana hisses, looking at him. "You are such an idiot!" He knew this was going to end badly for him.

* * *

He ambushes her in the parking lot after practice. "What the HELL?" He demands, feeling himself getting red-faced already. "You expect me not to have sex for a month? Just to join your fucking club?"

She smiles at him, throwing her bag in the back of her stupid VW Bug. He remembers being on the bus in 3rd grade with Finn, shouting "Punch Buggy, no punch back!" at the top of his lungs and then socking his best friend one. This memory is followed by a sudden surge of guilt, as he looks at Finn's girlfriend in front of him. He buries it deep down with all the other emotions he doesn't want to feel.

"It's called _Celibacy_ Club, Puck," She says cheerily, taking a sip from her water. "Although, I can see how with Santana in it you could have other ideas." She puts the water in her drink holder, and leans against the car. "And not just sex, sexual contact," She clarifies, and he stares at her blankly. "That means anything that can be construed as a sexual act, including oral, anal, hand jobs, ejaculating on a girl, groping of flesh covered by clothing, masturbating…" She trails off, seemingly content with the number of things she's banned him from already.

He stares at her for a minute, floored as to how to respond. "You've got to be kidding me," He mumbles under his breathe.

She grins, and he's hurt by how much satisfaction she's getting out of torturing him. "You were the one who was _desperate_ to join, weren't you?" He just looks at her, trying to find a way around this. And then it dawns on him.

A smile spreads slowly across his face, until he's smirking smugly at her. Her face falls a little, in confusion more than sadness. "What?" He kisses her, pressing her against her car and sliding his hand under the top of her cheerleading uniform. He moves to her neck, as he works his way up her smooth stomach muscle.

"What are you doing?" She cries, but she doesn't try to stop him. He can feel her skin reacting to his touch, moving against him as he moves to touch her breast. "We're in the middle of the school parking lot," She hisses in his ear. "We could get caught."

He grins at her, sliding his hand under her bra and hearing her gasp. "All the more fun."

Her eyes widen and she pushes him off, "You're mentally insane. You are, that's the only explanation for it. You're crazy." She bends to get in the car, "And you're out of the club."

His smile only broadens, "No I'm not." She opens her mouth to ask what he's on but he's already explaining, "Unless you want to explain to Finn that you let me feel you up when you won't let him, or tell Santana that you made out with her boyfriend." He leans down through her window and kisses her on the forehead, "I think they'd dethrone you as Queen of the Celibacy Bitches then, wouldn't they?" Her mouth struggles to form sounds. "Here's the way it's going to work: You don't tell anyone, I don't tell anyone. Deal?"

She's silent for a minute, and he can see her mind desperately looking for an out. After a minute, she sighs in acceptance. "Deal, for now."

He'll take what he can get.

* * *

They come up with a schedule to avoid Finn. Or more aptly, after a week of yelling at him for showing up on her porch and then making up against the wall of her house until her dad comes out to make sure she's okay, Quinn hands him a sheet of paper. "What's this?" He asks, as she stands outside his locker.

"These are the times between my dates with Finn, cheerleading practice, church and my social life you're allowed to come over," She opens it up and he sees a very complicated, over-highlighted schedule. "The red is cheerleading, the yellow is church, the blue is Finn, the pink is for Brit and Santana, and the green is for you." He notices that the green occurs mostly after 10 on weekends and after 6 on school nights.

"How am I supposed to get in?" He looks for an explanation on the paper but she just smiles at him.

"I told my parents I was taking a tumbling class on the weeknights," She smiles to herself, "My dad gave me the money for that, so we can just go get food and hang out." Suddenly a look of pure deviance appears on her face, and he feels his heart do some weird fluttery thing, "And as for the weekends, have you ever climbed up a trellis before?" He forgets how to breathe for a second.

* * *

They're eating curly fries in the back of his truck and playing truth or dare. It's become sort of a ritual for them, when they sneak out on school nights. It all started because Quinn was afraid to let him take off her bra, and he asked her teasingly. Now, more than a few times, they've gotten her home late because they were so busy asking questions and fooling around to notice the clock on his dash.

"Would you rather eat only ice cream or only salad for the rest of your life?" Puck asks as she pops a cheese-covered fry in her mouth.

She laughs at him and he tosses one at her, "Stop!" She cries, catching it and then eating it. "Oh god, I shouldn't be eating these, I'll get fat."

He sighs. She says this more than Santana, but in a completely different way. Santana says it to establish in your mind how utterly thin and perfect her body is. Quinn actually thinks it, he knows because he asked her. Apparently at one point, between her debutante days and getting married her sister became almost two hundred pounds. And the way her father, and subsequently her mother, treated her sent Quinn into a shame spiral at the very thought of eating calories. "So ice cream or salad?"

She chews her lip for a minute, "Salad." He groans and she cuts her eyes at him. "What?"

"That is such a typical girl answer," He rolls his eyes. He know this drives her insane when she isn't the one doing it. "Very _vanilla_ of you, Rachel." She thickens her glare and he smiles. One of the other things he's discovered is that they have a mutual love of Friends. And Quinn despises the fact that her whole family sees it fit to compare her to Rachel, the spoiled selfish brat with the same name as that man-handed girl from Glee club. It's probably an especially sore spot considering Finn made out with her last week behind Quinn's back, not that he's told her that. Although it might be a great excuse to break them up.

"I like salad," She hisses, but she can tell, despite his nodding that he isn't buying it. "Besides, you know how you eat too much chocolate and it makes you sick and makes you break out in addition to getting you fat?" He nods for her to go on. "I think eating ice cream all the time would be like that, only worse. It's so cold and you wouldn't want to eat it in the middle of the winter when you can barely keep yourself warm outside of your bed. And it's not like salad has to be amazingly healthy, now all these fast food places have come out with taco salad and steak salad and salad with apples and walnuts drizzled in a sweet sauce. I imagine it's only a matter of time until they start making desert salad or something like it to delude all these people into thinking they're eating healthy, when really they're stuffing themselves full of calories."

He nods, but this time she can tell he's impressed. "And steak salad sounds a lot better than steak ice cream," He grimaces. "Can you imagine eating a steak tip dipped in sickeningly sweet vanilla bean?"

"No more, it's my turn!" She scolds him, putting down the giant twist of a fry she's been nibbling on during their conversation. She brushes herself off, as if she hadn't been eating to carefully to get something on her, and leans towards him. "Truth or dare," He feels her breath tickle his nose.

"Dare," He smiles at her.

"I dare you to go inside and hit on the first wait staff you see, male or female." He makes a face. "Is that a refusal?" She asks playfully. For someone who's concerned about her boyfriend's sexuality, she sure makes sure he's in his place with his.

"Um…" He looks toward the stereo. He knows the deal, if he refuses they have to listen to Taylor Swift for the next hour before she goes home. He doesn't even believe she really likes it, just that she likes torturing him since she found out how much he hates it. "No, not a refusal per se but if you could give me an alternate or-"

"I think you already know what the alternate is," She grins at him, reaching over to grab the radio.

"No!" He grabs her waist to stop her, "I'll do it! I'll do it! I cannot listen to that fucking Love Story song again or else I'm going to end up exchanging sweaters with that Kurt Hummel freak."

She giggles as he struggles to keep her in the bed of the truck, going so far as to tickle her sides until she's collapsed under him in a fit of laughter. "Evil," She pouts, but she can't help that her lips are parting to reveal her grin.

"Mmm, but you like it," She pulls him towards her and rolls on top of him, peeling off his letterman jacket. "I like this you know."

"You could always ask Finn for his," He mumbles, moving to kiss her neck. "It might be a little bit of a giveaway if you started wearing mine."

She laughs again, nipping at his upper lip. "Not the jacket, you moron," She pauses for a moment. "This, being here with you, us."

He sits up a little underneath her, staring into her green eyes, "There's an us?"

She nods, a shy little smile on her lips, "Sometimes, when we're alone together like this. Not anything that could last in the real world, but like this…in the truck."

"In the truck there will always be an us?" She chuckles at him, then realizes he's actually serious.

"Sure," She whispers, meeting his lips. "Only in the truck though, I kind of need to keep my bedroom to myself.'

He grins at her, "For now." She squeals as he rolls on top of her and buries his face in her neck, pressing butterfly kisses up and down the most sensitive part.

"I should have never told you I was ticklish!"

* * *

He senses something is wrong from the minute he sets foot in her bedroom on Friday night, armed with curly fries and wine coolers, which were no easy feat to climb the lattice with. Namely, she won't eat the curly fries. No matter how much she complains about her weight, she always eats the fries. And she keeps jumping up while he kisses her on her bed, so much so that he's given up trying to touch anything she keeps covered up with clothing.

Eventually though, he looks up from her neck to find her staring at the picture of Jesus above her. "You okay, Quinn?" She looks down at him and nods. "Are you sure?"

She nods again, "Yep, uh-huh, just a little tired." She's still staring at Jesus.

"Do I have to sneak you out to the truck or are you going to be honest with me here?" She looks down at him, sitting on her bed and waiting for an explanation, and sighs.

"Today at Cheerios practice, Coach Sylvester put Santana at the top of the pyramid instead of me." He sees her eyes shimmering a little before she turns away. He feels his stomach sinking. "She said I'd been gaining too many pounds at weigh-ins lately and she called me a sloppy baby." Her lip trembles, and he can hear her trying to get in control of her breathing. "I'm supposed to be her favorite, I'm the captain."

"Look at me," She does. "Sylvester is just a bitter old hag, alright? She wishes she could be as young and thin and flawlessly beautiful as you are, that all the boys were beating down her door like we are for you, baby." She smiles at him, but he can still see the tears fighting their way out of her eyes. "What, did I say the wrong thing again?"

"No," She shakes her head. "That was really sweet, I just…" She trails off, looking at him and taking his hand. "I wasn't expecting it, coming from you."

Talk about a back-handed compliment. "That hurt," He mocks. In fact, it did a little bit. "Right here in my hollow tin chest." She giggles softly, "Here, have a wine cooler," He pulls one out of the box and hands it to her. "It'll make you feel better."

She takes it, and he can see her trying to uncap the bottle uneasily with her teeth. He takes it from her, popping it off easily in his hand and gives it back to her. She takes a sip and wrinkles her nose, "This is supposed to make me feel better?"

"Well, it's not exactly high-grade or anything but yeah, it is." She makes a disgusted face as she forces it down.

"Oh god, that's worse than chili," She cringes, trying to shake it off.

He laughs, "You hate chili, Fabray?"

She nods, smiling a little, "It don't even know why because I like most spicy stuff but it just repulses me, that and beans." She adds as an afterthought, "Except green beans."

He grins, putting a strand of hair behind her ear, "Really?"

Suddenly she nervous again, she downs half of the wine cooler and then just looks at him. "What?" He hears himself laugh anxiously.

"Nothing," She shakes her head. "It's just…Just…" She looks down at her blankets. "Have you ever had sex with a virgin before?" That was the last question in the world he was expecting and he forgets how to speak for a minute. "No, never mind. Stupid question, I should have known since Brittany and Santana had-"

"Hey," He grabs her hand, "You are nothing like Brittany and Santana, okay?" She nods, a little too quickly. "Hey, I mean it. If I just wanted to fuck you I'd have done it already, and I'd have made you buy the wine coolers for it." She hits him a little and he laughs. "I was serious."

She sighs, shaking her head, "I don't doubt it." She takes his hand and puts it near, her knee and he lowers himself slowly on to her. His lips meet hers and he slowly slides his hand up. He feels her tense and puts it on her waist instead, but still she pulls away. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. Have another wine cooler," He hands her one, despite the fact that the last one isn't even empty yet.

"I'm presidency of the Celibacy Club, I took a vow." It's a broken argument at best, he made a vow too. One not to have sexual contact for a month and they've been sneaking around behind Finn's back ever since.

"So did Santana and Brittany, and I did them." Maybe this wasn't the best argument, especially given that it was at the same time on occasion, but it's not like he can take it back now.

She seems to accept this though, and he's about to lean in when he hears it. "What about Finn?" He can feel the words rise something in his gut and for a split second he falters.

"Come on," He bargains, "We're in high school. You think either one of us is going to give a damn about Finn in three years?" Or so he hopes, desperately. "Life's just a bunch of experiences, you know? You don't get a medal at the finish line for being good, you just get dead." He waits for her verdict.

"Okay," She says but he can still hear the doubt in her voice. "But you can't tell anyone, I can't lose my rep."

He leans in again and lets the words dance against her lips, "Our secret, baby."

She pushes him away again, gently. "What about protection?" She asks, and he can see the fear in her eyes.

"I got it, trust me," He can see her relax a little. And he breathes looking down at her comforter for a minute. He suddenly knows exactly what he should say, "This isn't just another hook up for me." He wonders if she believes that's true or not. Either way, she lets him back toward her again and he sucks gently on her neck.

"Tell me one more time." He isn't completely sure which things she wants repeated, so he guesses.

"You're not fat." This seem to work because she lets him work his way down, unzipping her pleated skirt as she wriggles out of her top. She beckons him under the covers and he realizes he has to be more careful than usual. She isn't Santana, she needs more attention, more encouragement. So he gets under the sheet and guides her hand to his belt, watching her as she fumbles undoing it. Helping her when her hands shake a little to hard for the zipper. Petting her arm, gently, "You're beautiful, Quinn," He whispers, letting her hair loose. "Look at that hair, you should wear your hair down more often." She smiles at him and helps him off with his white beater. "Here," He moves his hand down south. "I'm just going to help you a little off first so it doesn't hurt, okay?"

She nods furiously into his shoulder, "I don't want it to hurt." Her voice is so raw and scared, and suddenly he's as serious as he's ever been about not hurting a girl. He murmurs to her as he works his fingers slowly in, stretching her as she gasps. He doesn't even think of murmuring any of the dirty, nasty things he might with other girls.

"You okay?" He asks and he hears her squeak out a positive response. He starts working, softly but very diligently at finding a pace for his fingers she likes. He feels her responding, her muscles tightening around him and keeps it up. He's so focused on her, he forgets to check his pockets for a condom. It isn't until later, when she's lying asleep next to him he realizes that the wrapper on the floor is not in fact empty.

He's so ashamed he sneaks out of her window before she can wake up.

* * *

She won't look at him in school the next Monday. Not in class, which he actually bothers going to, or at lunch, or when he stops at her locker before last period. "Hey, what time should I pick you up tonight?"

She shoves a book into her locker hard, "I can't. Santana's sleeping over."

He puts a hand on her arm, "Come on, get out of it. We can go down to the pool in my neighborhood and play a little Marco Polo," He waggles his eyebrows suggestively but she just shrugs his arm off.

"I can't, she knows I don't have any other real plans and she wants to get away from her step dad." That's probably true but it's beyond him why Santana wouldn't just come over to his place like usual. "Apparently he's drinking again."

"Alright, how about tomorrow night?" He grins at her. "We can rent a movie, go to my house-"

"And what?" She throws her binder in and then turns to him harshly. "Your mom's met Santana. She's met Finn. You think she isn't going to know something's up when instead of doubling, we're making out on the couch?" She shakes her head rapidly in annoyance, closing her locker.

"What's up with you? I thought we had a deal," He hisses at her, too quietly for anyone to hear them. "I thought this was our dirty little secret."

"Where were you then? On Saturday after Daddy left for golf at the Country Club and Mom went to her book club?" He gets it now, she's mad that he left. "Or on Sunday after I got home from Church? You were supposed to be upstairs."

"I had to work," He grumbles, scratching the back of his neck. "They put me on the late shift last minute."

"You couldn't call?" She looks at his phone. "What were you doing that was so important that you couldn't call?"

"Nothing," He lies but she's already got the phone. And he knows exactly what she'll find in there. "Nothing important," He clarifies as her face falls. "Listen I just-"

"Thought you could fuck me and leave me?" She throws his phone back at him, and he thinks it might be intentional she missed and it slams into the locker behind him.

"Quinn!" He grabs his hand and then pulls her into the nearest door, the choir room. "What the hell?"

"I am not just some girl you hook up with and then never call again, I thought you knew that," Oh god, she's crying. "I thought you knew me, but games are just games right? It doesn't matter that red is your favorite color, or that you love the smell of banana bread in the oven, or even that your dad left-"

He feels something rise in his chest, "Hey! That's not fair! I told you, this was more than just another hook-up, didn't I? I told you!"

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't know that when you couldn't be bothered to use a condom or to call me the next morning to mention it, or even to keep from sleeping with Santana-"

"Well, what about you, huh? What about Finn?" Her faces flushes red at his name. "Were you going to tell him about us, were you?" She opens her mouth and then looks away from him. "What Quinn? I'm sick of you being so fucking two-faced."

She scoffs at him, "Oh, I'm two-faced, right."

"You are," He accuses moving in towards her. He knows how to fix this, they fight all the time, all that he has to do is kiss her. If he can just kiss her, everything will be okay. "You're this sweet little Christian girl one minute all virtuous and too good for everyone, and then the next you're burning dweebs and fucking your best friend's boyfriend, your boyfriend's best friend." He moves in, "You're just as bad as I am." He leans down and she kicks him in the shin, hard.

"You're right," She laughs, backing towards the door. "I was never going to leave Finn for you. You aren't worth it, not even in bed." She's gone when he looks up, and he can only taste something bitter, almost like coconut, in his mouth.


End file.
